


Antoine the Bold

by Nadler



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: The early adventures of Antoine Roussel, a knight-errant (of sorts), and how he came to serve at a fae court.





	1. Antoine acquires a sword

**Author's Note:**

> This had been broiling in my documents for a while. I *think* it will be four parts, and fairly quick to finish, but who knows.

_When Antoine Roussel came to courts as a young man, barely out of boyhood, they took one look at the dents in his dull armor and the scratches on his face and turned him away. Showed him the door with little acrimony. After all, he was not a proper knight, no known sponsor and no known kin. Not even that, he was a knave without a title, who sustained himself through the small pots at the tourneys. He entered all and sundry he could find, for the mere chance of recognition._

_And recognized he was. More for his fists and pugnacious nature than any skilled swordwork or fleet fancy footstep--though he certainly could seem to fly right into the stands if needed, summoning depths of determination fathoms-deep at the shallows._

 

Antoine was but four-and-ten when he came to this land. He's older when he leaves the small inn his parents managed to sustain; it was small, but it was enough for four. They ate enough, if leanly at times. 

He told his father, "I am off to seek a fortune," because every young man wants to make his own way in life. 

Antoine's father only shook his head. "What fortune? In what manner? Son, do not be hasty, you are an innkeeper's son, and this place will be waiting for you." 

To which Antoine pursed his lips and said, "Once, you were more than an innkeep. Would you deny me that?" And then Antoine turned and revealed to his father the place where their old family birthright was hidden. 

"That was long before you were born," his father said, and then he sighed, but he did not deny it. 

The birthright was a suit of armor, that once, had been the pride of the family. Generations of alterations had marred the ornate designs, and Antoine himself had only just fit into the breastplate himself. A growth spurt could suit him better, but it also threatened to overshoot the armor. 

The mail shirt, however, fit him like a second skin.

"There must be a sword," Antoine inquired of his father. 

He only shook his head. "No sword have I," he said. "It was lost, long ago. What use for a sword has an innkeep?" 

"Father," Antoine began, for he had imagined the things his father could have done in this armor, and to deny it seemed defeating. But his father had already turned away, reaching for a pack. 

"Go if you will, son," he said. "And return whole."

Antoine swore he would return with honor, and that perhaps, they could return to their old life in the old country. His father only shook his head and replied, "Perhaps for you, but we are content here." 

The inn had but three horses, and Antoine took one. She wasn't the youngest, but she was a reliable enough mare. Her sire had to have been a warhorse, Antoine thought, and his father never corrected him. 

 

The very first day he rode way from the village, he bartered a place in a barn in exchange for field labor. Antoine was not above that, not at all, even though he wore mail under his tunic. There would be enemies to encounter, later, but until then, he was just a man on the road, a traveler. 

No one had cleaned this barn in some time, and the farmer's wife had only told him that their last cow had died in the last bad spell, so all that the barn held were cats and seedcorn and old hay for travelers. 

Antoine definitely did not mind the noble creatures at all. He had counted four, one a tabby that would even let him hold him. There was something shining through the floor, and Antoine, being not afraid and also possessing of gauntlets, prised it out. 

It was a sword. 

"Unhand me!" a voice rang out, and a face, astoundingly, a face, seemed to appear from the steel.

The sword talked, Antoine thought, incredulously raising his eyebrows. 

"Can you not talk?" it then said. Evidently, he must have said that part aloud, or else the sword read minds. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Fair enough." Antoine frowned. "Will you complain if I make use of you?" 

"I do say that's rude," the sword said. "We haven't even introduced ourselves." 

"I am Antoine?" He wonders why he's making the introduction to a sword, of all things, but clearly, it's magic. 

"And I'm Dave." 

"Dave?"

"That is my name." It was still unnerving to see the face in the blade. "What happened to the last one?" 

Antoine dug further and found no trace, not even bones. Antoine helpfully offered, moving the sword towards the hay that "It must have been some time ago." 

"It must have been." After a long pause that Antoine would have thought a sigh would have fit in, the sword continued, "I suppose you are my only way out of here." 

"Unless you can sprout legs," Antoine agreed. "And I am in need of a sword. There must be something foul afoot, for we are in a barn." 

The sun was near to setting, so Antoine decided it was a mystery best left to the morning. He wondered if swords slept, but then he pondered the terrifying possibility that swords didn't, and he'd be having a conversation with a piece of equipment all night. 

In the morning, Antoine found a kitten on his tunic. It looked at him with big, round eyes, and it opened its mouth at Antoine.

"Aren't you a fierce little creature?" he cooed. Antoine petted its little paw, and the kitten batted back at him. He needed both hands to pick up the cat, and once he did, it playfully tried to bite his thumb. 

Antoine had half a mind to take the kitten with him. He brought it over to his mare, who merely blew hot air out of her nostrils out of it, which was the best he could hope for. He put the kitten on his shoulder while he tried to make sense of the sword. 

The sword, which had somehow grown a scabbard since he'd seen it last. 

He pulled it out of the scabbard and shook it once, twice. "I'm awake!" the sword cried. "Stop that." 

"Where did the scabbard come from?" Antoine asked. 

"I was a wizard, once," the sword said. "I still know some tricks."

Oh, Antoine realized. This must be a curse of some kind. Or a punishment. "What did you do to be transformed, so?" 

"It's a long story," Dave the sword admitted, after a long sigh. "If you help me, I'll tell you."

"And you want to be a man again?" Antoine extrapolated. 

"Not particularly," the sword admitted. "I'd like to go home, though." 

"So would I," Antoine said, though home would be a very different place by now. Barring that, he thought, he always dreamed of being a knight, of doing something worthwhile with his life. 

And so Antoine and Dave the sword, once a wizard, agreed to be companions.


	2. In which time passes; or, Antoine acquires a Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you find that half of this fic is Rous interacting with cats. I have no shame.

_Hardy, tenacious, but never the quickest on the draw, Antoine strived to gain a favor and a name across the lands. A life like that takes its toll and results in more than a few nasal reconstructions along the way, but he took to it like a spider to skittering across alleyways. He fought for many things, to demand retribution for the vitriolic slabs of meat squaring themselves off against him, of course, but also to stand his ground. Antoine had to--his mouth got him into more than a few messes outside the ritual ring of combat, myriad in their beginning but not in their ending. Not least, he'd restore the honor of his small homeland one day, but one man, no matter how brave and full of vigorous vim, could not do that alone._

_In a staggering turn of events, the first time he was approached for his skills, he, of course, felt flattered. Antoine cocked that wide smile and said, "Leave it to me."_

 

The easiest way to earn a living was to use what he had, and what Antoine had was a magic sword, armor, and his own two hands. 

"Who taught you to swing a sword?" Dave grumbled, when Antoine had used him to cut at a tree branch. 

That was not a very pleasant occasion. 

 

The next time Antoine returned to his parents' inn, it was for his sister's wedding celebration. Seven years had passed, and in that time, Antoine had not gained a knighthood, had not gained lands, had not solved the mystery of where, in fact, was Dave's home. 

Antoine had, in that time, earned a sort of name for himself as a sell-sword. He also was known for stopping by and rescuing cats from trees, but that only helped him once in a while. 

He gained some favor, but he lost it just as quickly. 

He had done great things, by his estimation. He had survived. He had hunted down the Beast of caverns. He had gotten out of the fields of Anaheim if not unscathed, at least with (mostly) only a hurt pride. Antoine had made a sorceror laugh. He had even seen a firebird.

He was still defeated by the sight of his family and feeling like a stranger under a door he'd entered a thousand times. 

"How auspicious," Antoine's mother remarked, partly out of surprise when Antoine dismounted. 

His father said nothing, but it was a satisfied look. Antoine, at least, was not missing any fingers. 

"Mother, did you think I would be late?" Antoine asked, a little offended. He had sent letters, at least, about his exploits. He was not inclined to be late. 

The occasion was a happy one. It also allowed Antoine to rethink his quest, to rethink his life. It also allowed Antoine to ask an important question. 

His father refused to spoil the occasion with the answer. 

 

Dave, who kept mostly silent, merely said, as Antoine was readying to retire for the night. "You made an attempt; no one could ask more." 

"And you as well," Antoine replied. "For you've broken your silence." 

"Am I supposed to sound like a captive?" he asked, and looking at the scabbard, Antoine admitted he had a point. "Let me take a nap from time to time." 

 

The next morning, Antoine asked a different question. It was a simple one--why did everyone seem so determined that there were no maps to their homeland. The answer: "They hardly believe such a place exists." 

It was almost better than no answer at all. Antoine set out on the road again, 

"It could be a spell," Dave suggested. Of course, everything was always a spell to him. "Someone who must have a grudge on your country." 

Antoine told him the name of his birthplace and colors of the banner they flew under. Dave made a thoughtful sound. 

Antoine reined in his steed, bringing them to a standstill. He had seen a flicker of movement, somewhere, and while there may have been no bandits when he rode down this road before, more could surely arise. 

He waited for a long moment. Then he looked down. 

Cats' eyes stared up at him. Antoine was quite sure that cat was not there before. It would have unnerved another man, but he only stared back. 

The eyes were green, and the cat was black. It swished its tail back and forth and then paced in a circle, only to return to look at Antoine. 

"Are you lost?" he asked. 

The cat did not answer, but it cocked its head. The cat did not claw or try to lunge, so Antoine assumed it was friendly. 

He dismounted, as one does for a cat. 

Antoine chucked, and moved to pick it up. "You're heavy," he remarked, only to get a strained sound as reply. "Oh, I didn't mean anything by it." He let the cat down near some rocks by the side of the road. 

It followed him back. Usually, when a cat looked at Antoine this expectantly, he had fed it first. 

To the sword on his hip, Antoine asked, "What do you think of this?" Either an answer to the puzzle of the Antoine's homeland or the cat would do. 

"It's another cat," Dave said. "Are you going to try to keep this one, too?" 

Antoine might, in fact, do that. He bent down and tentatively scratched behind one of its ears; its fur was soft and shiny, odd for a wild cat. It was calm and docile. A pet more than a barncat, surely. 

Antoine did not know what he was going to do, other than see if it would sit still on his saddle. 

 

The trouble with defeating a terrifying Beast was that everyone expected it to be something one normally did; while Antoine was up to the challenge, finding something else that lived in a dark cave was not his idea of enjoyable excitement. 

It paid well, though. 

An ogre, monstrous and green, had been reported to terrorize this small fiefdom, and it lived in a cave. Such a cave was cavernous and would take several days to traverse. Antoine prepared, and he expected a feast on his return. 

The fief's keep only had a minor Lord, and he merely smiled at the assuredness that Antoine projected. 

 

Antoine had lost the cat somewhere, probably to the call of the wilderness. Few things could keep a wild animal contained for long, and Antoine was not an advocate of any of them. 

The cave was damp, overgrown, and Antoine thought it was vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was only the need to slash at the growth with his sword, who complained about possible rusty edges. 

Ogres kept their hearts in separate rooms, so it was only a matter of navigating the maze. If Antoine did not need to, he did not _desire_ to fight an ogre, no matter how well prepared and willing he otherwise was. 

This ogre was smarter--it kept its heart close to it. Antoine kept as still as he could, even though the rooms in this cavern were spaces, cool with the underground insulation, and he could hear the crawl of the earth around them. 

The central chamber was large enough that if needed, Antoine could sprint around, but there was no need, and the ogre seemed like it wasn't paying attention. 

Antoine took a breath and prepared himself to react; he needn't have. The ogre fell with a hollow sound, and even in his low torchlight, he could see a black shape. 

A cat. Who pushed a round stone, a trinket, forward. 

"Oh, I like you," Antoine said, even as the cat tried to clean its claws on the ground. It made a soft sound. Its claws were black as an ogre's heart, and Antoine had a realization. 

Antoine offered it some water, which it rejected for a slight moment before dipping its paws into the resulting puddle. 

Dave whistled. "That was surprisingly facile." 

Antoine shrugged and pocketed the stone. It was something to be examined the light, and it also stopped the cat from making annoyed noises at him. 

"I can call you Minou, no?" he asked, stroking the line of the cat's back. "We're friends now." 

He did not think he could count on Minou carrying the ogre to the village, though. 

 

Antoine Roussel was known for his love of cats; and it was said that they would fight for him.


End file.
